stocky figure got closer, Pete thought he heard Bryan say something.
“What?”
“Pump… access!” Bryan croaked, pointing just above them. They followed his gesture toward a deployable ladder a few yards away, stealthily painted to match the off-white of the support struts holding up Slider Mountain. The release mechanism wasn’t obvious to Pete. Liz went for it first, using some of the nearby struts to climb.
Everything happened all at once. Preparing for the imminent fight, Pete sized up the stocky man, whose eyes dripped a cloudy fluid from sickly blonde-colored sores around his eyes. As Pete studied his opponent, noting the thick, powerful arms and low center of gravity, he heard Bryan gasp. A tall, thin woman in a bright orange swimsuit, hunter orange, Pete’s brain registered dimly, darted out of the shadows to attack Bryan. She caught him with a powerful, wide strike from her balled fist.
There was no chance to do anything about it. The stocky man moved faster than Pete would have imagined, attacking him with a flurry of furious blows. He blocked a few, testing his enemy, unnerved by the uncanny grin on the man’s face. The same perverted perfume he’d experienced earlier reached into his awareness again, instinctually revolting. His squat opponent followed up with another barrage of attacks, allowing Pete to block two blows while taking one in the gut.
Earlier today, in kung fu class, he had told Adam to always give back what he got. The strike to Pete’s gut was exchanged for a left handed palm to the chin, raising the man’s head just enough for Pete to aim a crane wing at his neck, using the forearm as a weapon. Having trained with the principle of Iron Body, using repeated minor impacts to harden the bone, Pete’s forearm must have felt like a length of rebar when it slammed into the throat of the short man.
Kung fu didn’t hesitate to strike the vitals.
No longer grinning, a clenched fist missed Pete completely. The miss allowed him to sidestep and deliver a strong hammer fist to the man’s kidney. He followed up with a short kick to the knee, dropping his assailant to the ground. The stocky man’s face was already purple, his hands clutching at his neck. Pete turned his back on the stocky man knowing the punch to the throat was likely fatal. He stood panting after the painful blow to his torso.
Bryan was holding his own against the tall woman. Throwing some powerful but ill-advised punches, he was still staying on his feet. The woman lunged and grabbed, but he danced out of the way. Before Bryan could land another wind-up punch, a short girl with blonde pigtails materialized out of the darkness. She tackled him from behind, knocking Bryan and his two assailants to the ground. Bryan’s face hit the pavement hard. “You took MY JACKET, WHERE’s my JACKET,” Pigtails screamed from the floor, clawing at Bryan’s legs. It was less a question than it was an utterance without context, purely psychotic.
Blood thudded in Pete’s ears, and his vision narrowed to focus on the two women trying to beat Bryan to death. The tall woman pounded hard on Bryan’s temple before getting a kick to the face from Pete. The ball of his foot whipped her head backwards. With her jaw dislocated and tongue hanging out, she was dazed long enough for him to bring another sweeping roundhouse kick across the face of Pigtails. Enough of his awareness remained to hear Liz’s warning.
“Behind you, Pete!”
The warning probably saved him. Pete turned just in time to deflect some of the power of a punch aimed at the back of his head. Having sparred many times, with and without a helmet, he had been hit in the head before. But there was a rage behind the bare-knuckle strike that made it particularly vicious. In its wake, Pete’s ear felt like it had been torn off. Accustomed to being hit, he lost no time, knowing how to ignore rising pain when action was needed. When he had started training, Sifu had told him
“What?”
“Pump… access!” Bryan croaked, pointing just above them. They followed his gesture toward a deployable ladder a few yards away, stealthily painted to match the off-white of the support struts holding up Slider Mountain. The release mechanism wasn’t obvious to Pete. Liz went for it first, using some of the nearby struts to climb.
Everything happened all at once. Preparing for the imminent fight, Pete sized up the stocky man, whose eyes dripped a cloudy fluid from sickly blonde-colored sores around his eyes. As Pete studied his opponent, noting the thick, powerful arms and low center of gravity, he heard Bryan gasp. A tall, thin woman in a bright orange swimsuit, hunter orange, Pete’s brain registered dimly, darted out of the shadows to attack Bryan. She caught him with a powerful, wide strike from her balled fist.
There was no chance to do anything about it. The stocky man moved faster than Pete would have imagined, attacking him with a flurry of furious blows. He blocked a few, testing his enemy, unnerved by the uncanny grin on the man’s face. The same perverted perfume he’d experienced earlier reached into his awareness again, instinctually revolting. His squat opponent followed up with another barrage of attacks, allowing Pete to block two blows while taking one in the gut.
Earlier today, in kung fu class, he had told Adam to always give back what he got. The strike to Pete’s gut was exchanged for a left handed palm to the chin, raising the man’s head just enough for Pete to aim a crane wing at his neck, using the forearm as a weapon. Having trained with the principle of Iron Body, using repeated minor impacts to harden the bone, Pete’s forearm must have felt like a length of rebar when it slammed into the throat of the short man.
Kung fu didn’t hesitate to strike the vitals.
No longer grinning, a clenched fist missed Pete completely. The miss allowed him to sidestep and deliver a strong hammer fist to the man’s kidney. He followed up with a short kick to the knee, dropping his assailant to the ground. The stocky man’s face was already purple, his hands clutching at his neck. Pete turned his back on the stocky man knowing the punch to the throat was likely fatal. He stood panting after the painful blow to his torso.
Bryan was holding his own against the tall woman. Throwing some powerful but ill-advised punches, he was still staying on his feet. The woman lunged and grabbed, but he danced out of the way. Before Bryan could land another wind-up punch, a short girl with blonde pigtails materialized out of the darkness. She tackled him from behind, knocking Bryan and his two assailants to the ground. Bryan’s face hit the pavement hard. “You took MY JACKET, WHERE’s my JACKET,” Pigtails screamed from the floor, clawing at Bryan’s legs. It was less a question than it was an utterance without context, purely psychotic.
Blood thudded in Pete’s ears, and his vision narrowed to focus on the two women trying to beat Bryan to death. The tall woman pounded hard on Bryan’s temple before getting a kick to the face from Pete. The ball of his foot whipped her head backwards. With her jaw dislocated and tongue hanging out, she was dazed long enough for him to bring another sweeping roundhouse kick across the face of Pigtails. Enough of his awareness remained to hear Liz’s warning.
“Behind you, Pete!”
The warning probably saved him. Pete turned just in time to deflect some of the power of a punch aimed at the back of his head. Having sparred many times, with and without a helmet, he had been hit in the head before. But there was a rage behind the bare-knuckle strike that made it particularly vicious. In its wake, Pete’s ear felt like it had been torn off. Accustomed to being hit, he lost no time, knowing how to ignore rising pain when action was needed. When he had started training, Sifu had told him
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